


love letters, painted gold

by Resamille



Series: Archery AU [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Archery, Background Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou, Bottom Oikawa Tooru, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Jealous Oikawa Tooru, M/M, Oikawa is not taking your shit, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Teasing, Top Sugawara Koushi, a lil bit of oral sex, a lil bit of praise kink ig???, and some shittalking and way too many archery metaphors, but also a lot of discussion and references to switching, but also what porn, everyone's verse here, it's literally just oisuga being gay, kenma would like to go home now, kuroo voted most likely to be skinned alive after insulting the recurve shooters, more feelings than porn tbh, mostly fluff tbh, professional archery competitors au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 07:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15702699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: Whoever brings home the gold gets everything handed to them on a silver platter. That's the rule. It doesn't matter who they have to beat to get there, as long as victory is in their grasp.(Or: Competing against his teammate in the individual men's archery World Cup might be one thing, but competing against his boyfriend leaves Sugawara reeling. Luckily, it doesn't really matter who wins in the end.)





	love letters, painted gold

**Author's Note:**

> haha my first work in this fandom is unedited oisuga archery porn i have no regrets  
> this was supposed to be pwp but then it turned into about 9k of nerdy archery talk, shittalking compound shooters, banter, and Feelings with about 3k of porn, if at that point i can even really claim it's porn bc it's more like emotional reassurance while we happen to be naked and have our dicks out. but. anyway. it's how it be ig.
> 
> i have now edited this fuckery and let me tell you its all over for you bithes
> 
> some archery terms bc I didn't mean to make this fic a fuckin poem for archery but apparently that's what happened:  
> \- a round in an archery competition is called an "end" and in individual matches at the archery world cup an end consists of each competitor shooting 3 arrows in total, alternating after each shot  
> \- recurve is the style of bow that looks like a standard bow and arrow. think legolas.  
> \- compound bows are hunting bows that are shaped differently and fitted with pulley systems to assist in holding the force used to shoot your arrow  
> \- draw is that thing you do when you pull your arm back  
> \- anchor is where you place your hand against your jaw for a more consistent shot  
> \- there's a bunch of other shit mentioned but tbh i don't think you need to know details but maybe i'll come back and fix this once i proofread and realize i've made a Grave Mistake
> 
> this fic is 200% inspired by the odense 2016 women's gold medalist recurve match between ki bo bae and choi misun. it's a great match tbh go watch it and they're both so pretty i'm very gay.
> 
> caution: be aware that there's a 4 year age gap between Suga and Oiks in this fic, but they didn't start dating until Oiks was 22 and Suga was 26 and at that point they'd already been teammates/friends for 4 years. if the age gap squicks you out then kindly press that nice back button. i come from the vld fandom i aint got time for age discourse. further, all characters depicted are 18+ so miss me with that discourse shenanigans too listen i'm tired

“Here they go.”

Suga looks up just in time to see Kuroo's exasperated expression. Next to him, Akaashi is succeeding in appearing very disinterested in his surroundings. Kenma doesn't even glance up from his phone.

“Well, hello, Refreshing-kun,” coos a smug voice from behind him. It grates on Suga's nerves, maybe makes him want to snap one of his arrows in half if not for the fact Ukai would _kill_ him for it. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Suga turns around with a smile plastered across his face. “Hello, Oikawa. You look composed, as always.” As if Suga didn't know Oikawa well enough to know _exactly_ how composed he is.

“Kind of you to notice,” Oikawa purrs. He steps close into Suga's space, and Suga automatically stands straighter, trying to close that stupid four-inch gap between their heights. Oikawa reaches out to brush at a lock of Suga's hair, but Suga bats his hand away, annoyed.

“Stop that,” Suga huffs at him, narrowing his eyes.

“Feisty,” Oikawa observes.

“Please stop arguing,” Kenma mutters at them without much conviction.

“Arguing?” Kuroo echoes incredulously. “This is their foreplay.”

Suga doesn't take his eyes off Oikawa, but the other man turns to glance over at Kuroo with a smirk. “Well, all things considered...” he hums. “I wouldn't say you're wrong.”

Kuroo groans.

“You're no better with Bokuto,” Akaashi points out. “Half the time I wonder if you let me win so that you don't have to face him.”

Suga glances over. Kuroo's face is stricken.

“Listen,” he manages to croak out. “I can't _always_ win. I can't deal with Bo's pouty face when I inevitably beat him.”

Kenma turns away from his phone only to look up at Kuroo with a deadpan expression.

“Okay, so maybe that fumble on the last end wasn't intentional,” Kuroo admits slowly. “It totally wasn't my fault.”

“You dropped your arrow,” Kenma says dryly.

“I won the end,” Kuroo argues with a bit of a pout that Suga is absolutely sure he got from Bokuto.

“And still lost the match,” Akaashi says, though there's a hint of teasing in his voice. Kuroo opens his mouth to argue, but Akaashi keeps going. “It's okay, Kuroo. I understand. Just know that I have absolutely no hesitation in crushing your boyfriend.”

“My,” Oikawa drawls. “Absolutely ruthless.”

“Reminds me of someone,” Suga quips back.

“Come now, Refreshing-kun,” Oikawa purrs as his gaze drifts back to Suga's face. “If I wasn't good, then you wouldn't want me as your opponent, would you?”

“'Good' is a relative term,” Suga fires back. “That wild shot in the team round was nothing to write home about.”

Oikawa's cheeks go pink with indignation. “A bug landed on me! You know I hate bugs.”

Suga quirks an incredulous eyebrow.

Oikawa lets out a huff. “Yeah, well, at least I don't take forever to shoot like you, Old Man.”

Suga's other eyebrow joins the first at his hairline. “I'm sorry? I didn't realize age mattered so much. I would have been ordering you around to respect your elders years ago.”

Oikawa tilts his head up, just so he can look down his nose at Suga.

“As if he'd ever _listen_ ,” growls someone from behind Oikawa. “Oi, Shittykawa, go get your Goddamn bow ready before Ukai hangs you by your medals.”

Oikawa lets out a pained whine and lurches forward. Suga narrowly avoids Oikawa's forehead smacking into his, and it's only the fact he knows Oikawa so well that he manages to dodge.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines. “So mean to me.”

“Because Suga doesn't deserve to take your shit before the competition,” Iwaizumi states.

Oikawa's eyes flash with mock hurt as he whirls to face Iwaizumi. “Suga _adores_ me,” he protests.

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi challenges. “Even when you're intentionally trying to distract him before the match? Stop being a dick to your teammates. Especially your boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” Suga snickers. “Listen to our trainer.” He glances around Oikawa to lock eyes with Iwaizumi. He mouths _Thank you_ at him over Oikawa's shoulder.

Iwaizumi just crosses his arms. Suga's grateful for that. He doesn't need to give Oikawa any more fuel to tease if he realizes how much he can affect Suga. Oikawa makes a noise that Suga knows means he's sticking his tongue out like a child.

“Put that back in your mouth,” Iwaizumi tells him without a hint of sympathy. “Go get your bow ready.”

“Mean, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines again.

“Yeah? Still going to call me mean when you're running late to the starting time because you didn't listen?”

“Match starts in ten,” Kenma informs them. “Iwaizumi is right.”

“Of course he is,” Akaashi says. “He's the only one who can keep Oikawa in line.”

Suga gives Oikawa's shoulder a push. “Go on. Stop fucking around here and go get ready. Wouldn't want to forfeit your chance right? Even though we both know you'll lose.”

Oikawa whips around with a snarl on his face. Suga just grins at him, a picture of saccharine. Oikawa's expression eases into a sneer.

“Fine,” he snaps. “Everyone is ganging up on me today. I can tell I'm not wanted.” He stomps past Iwaizumi and back towards his equipment. Ukai is waiting for him with his hands on his hips.

Suga sighs.

Iwaizumi watches Oikawa go and then turns to look at Suga. “He's nervous.”

“I know,” Suga says calmly. He begins checking over his bow for probably the fourth time. “He's worried because he didn't get to compete last time.”

“How's his shoulder holding up?” Akaashi asks.

“It's good,” Suga answers easily, though concern simmers in his gut.

Kenma looks up, gaze piercing through his bangs, but he doesn't say anything.

“You should go make sure he doesn't work himself up too much,” Suga tells Iwaizumi. “He really does only listen to you.”

“Only because I'm not afraid to threaten him with violence,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “He doesn't like that very much, but it works.”

Suga smiles, though even he knows it's a bit weak. “I don't know,” he purrs, and is happy to find his voice comes out as smooth and steady as he intends. Years of dealing with the nerves of archery championships as made hiding his stress easier and easier. “He has a preference for it, when he's in the mood.”

Iwaizumi makes a face. “Please. Don't. I don't want to know. I hear enough from him.”

“Welcome to a life of suffering, Iwaizumi,” Kuroo drawls. “It's a personal hell of knowing way too much about your teammates' sex lives.”

Iwaizumi shoots Kuroo a look. He shakes his head, almost as if he's trying to clear his head of unpleasant thoughts, and stalks off after Oikawa.

Kenma scoffs quietly. “You're one to talk, Kuro. I've heard you wax poetic about Koutarou's ass too many times. You're not innocent in the least.”

Kuroo's face goes red. Akaashi starts laughing so hard he nearly falls over.

“Why am I getting picked on now?” Kuroo huffs.

Suga grins, trying to hold back a chuckle. Akaashi's cackles are contagious. “Easy target.”

“It's like shooting at ten meters with the beginners again,” Kenma adds with a slight smirk of his own and a sideways glance at Kuroo.

“Ha ha,” Kuroo deadpans. “I've won too many golds to get picked on with archery jokes.”

“Come now,” Suga says, grin widening. “Don't _string_ him along guys.”

Akaashi slaps a palm across his face and tries to stifle incredulous giggles.

“That's it,” Kuroo huffs, throwing his hands in the air. He then points an accusatory finger at Suga. “I'm switching to recurve so I can personally take you down.”

Suga's grin turns downright evil. “As if. You wouldn't have the muscle to hold the draw after shooting compound so long.”

Akaashi, who also shoots compound, stops laughing long enough to flip Suga off. “Sorry. We prioritize efficiency and versatility over looking like a DND character.”

Shock filters through Kuroo's gaze. “Oh, it's _on_ ,” he snarls, glaring at Suga. “After you wreck Oikawa's ass—”

“Phrasing,” Kenma interrupts with a cringe, but Kuroo ignores him.

“—We're competing recurve, and I'm going to _own_ you.”

Suddenly, Suga's attention is drawn to a commotion and crowd making their way towards them. There's exactly one person who can both garner that much attention and also be that loud.

With one gold already won—men's compound team with Akaashi and Kuroo—and now, apparently, a ticket to the individual finals against Akaashi, Bokuto is full of confidence and soaking in the fame. Suga sees the tips of his hair bounce around at the center of the crowd, and then he's pushing through and bolting for them.

“Akaashi! Kuroo!” Bokuto calls as he makes his way towards them. “Look at all my fans!”

Kenma immediately shuffles towards Suga, lurking at Suga's side so he doesn't get in the crossfire of Bokuto and Kuroo.

It takes less than two seconds for Bokuto to leap into Kuroo's arms. Kuroo catches him, if only barely, and Akaashi scowls deeply while simultaneously reaching a hand out to steady Kuroo.

“Bo,” Kuroo complains, “I still have a round to compete in later.”

“But I won the match,” Bokuto croons. He has his legs wrapped around Kuroo's waist and is squishing Kuroo's face between his hands. “So you owe me a kiss.”

“You have to beat Akaashi first to get gold,” Kuroo tells him, but still kisses him, anyway.

And then he drops Bokuto on the ground.

Bokuto stumbles but catches himself. He pouts at Kuroo.

Kuroo shrugs. “You're heavy.”

“Three minutes,” Kenma whispers to Suga.

On cue, Iwaizumi calls for him.

Kenma meets his eyes, graces him with one of those rare, proud, Kenma-smiles. Suga returns it tenfold.

“Good luck,” Kenma says, and though he doesn't say it with any extra emotion, Suga feels the words ground him anyway.

“Thanks,” Suga says. He grabs his bow and heads for the range.

Suga, returning from the competition last year, goes on stage first.

They're lucky, to some degree. The wind has died down some since their team recurve match earlier that day. It'll be a closer match that way, with higher scores. Unfortunately, that means Oikawa's more wild shots will be more accurate. Suga's at a disadvantage. 

Suga gets some cheers as he walks on the platform, setting his bow down and waving to the crowds.

But they really go crazy when Oikawa steps up.

Suga plants his hands on his hips and does his best to look indignant about Oikawa's fame.

He's always been the fan favorite—gorgeous and cocky and unattainable, not to mention highly skilled. He's been ranked first in the world more times than Suga, despite the fact Suga's won more golds.

Oikawa revels in it, too, waving dramatically and blowing kisses into the crowd. As if any of his fans have a chance.

Suga knows there's been rumors. They haven't exactly kept it secret. But they haven't been open about it, either.

Oikawa's gaze meets his, all dark caramel and competition. Suga resists the shudder that tries to work down his spine. Instead, he turns and reaches for his bow.

Oikawa shoots first, since technically the odds are against him. After a loss to Ushiwaka, he'd overworked his shoulder preparing for World last year and couldn't compete. He'd pouted for _weeks_. Until Suga brought him home the gold, he'd been inconsolable. And after... Suga _does_ shudder at that particular memory. He busies himself with checking over his arm and chest guards, making sure the straps are all in place and trying very hard to _not_ think about the hard press of Oikawa's fingers digging into his hips.

Ukai is standing between Suga and Oikawa's positions on the platform. Iwaizumi is next to him, looking foreboding and generally displeased with the existence of the afternoon sun.

Oikawa finishes playing the crowd—for now—and flounces towards Iwaizumi, chittering excitedly for a moment and then tugging impatiently on Iwaizumi's jacket. Suga doesn't hear what he's saying, but he see Ukai roll his eyes dramatically and that's how he knows it's Oikawa being... Oikawa.

Iwaizumi seems to give in. He tiptoes and presses a kiss to Oikawa's forehead. Oikawa beams, and the stands go absolutely _nuts_.

Suga makes a face. Oikawa and Iwaizumi aren't even _dating_. They're just being obnoxiously cute, and Iwaizumi is only indulging Oikawa in the first place because he knows Oikawa is nervous after recovering.

Oikawa turns his blinding smile towards Suga. “Don't be jealous.”

Suga stubbornly turns away from him.

“A sore loser already?”

“Oi,” Ukai calls to them both. “Get over here.”

Suga does as he's told. Oikawa pokes at Iwaizumi's stomach (he's ticklish, Suga knows), but Iwaizumi dodges away and stays a few feet away.

There's a chorus of _aww'_ s from the crowd and Suga's blood heats with something bitter.

“Play nice, Oikawa,” Ukai scolds, and Oikawa keeps his hands to himself.

Suga, however, does not.

Ukai is halfway through a pep talk of some sort when Suga starts moving.

Before he's entirely conscious of the decision, Suga takes two long strides, grabs the back of Oikawa's neck, and pushes their lips together.

Oikawa makes an entirely too-smug and too-pleased noise in the back of his throat, so Suga shoves his tongue into Oikawa's mouth and turns the noise into a groan, instead. He runs his tongue along the roof of Oikawa's mouth and then pulls away before Oikawa can tangle his hand in Suga's hair and keep him there.

Suga goes back to his side of the platform. He doesn't look at Oikawa until the match begins.

The crowd is a mixture of excited cheering and shocked. Suga hears the harsh whisper of Ukai talking to Oikawa and a judge, but no one comes to speak with Suga while he waits.

Eventually, there's a buzz signaling the start of the match.

Oikawa steps up to the shooting line. He's facing away from Suga, but it doesn't matter. Suga's watched him shoot for far longer than he's even noticed the alluring curve of Oikawa's body. They were always teammates first, and it shows now, because Suga can predict the exact length and speed of Oikawa's draw as he aims and looses his first arrow.

Suga doesn't look at the target. The loudspeaker announces an eight, and Suga doesn't need to look to confirm. Instead, he focuses on his own target.

The thing Suga likes most about archery is its consistency. Everything narrows down to a single point as it drives towards the foam, seventy meters away. Suga mentally checks off all his equipment in his head: sling, guards, sight, finger tabs.

And then, he's curling his fingers around the bowstring and pulling back. Years of practice have made the draw not quite an easy one, but one he's used to, as he sets the string against his lips.

A thought, in the split second of time-frozen silence before the release: how can he love Oikawa so much, when each time he shoots, his kiss is reserved for his bow?

Does it matter, when Oikawa knows that same passion? Not only for Suga, but for the draw and the breath of stillness and the beat of his heart and the _thud_ as Suga's arrow hits home.

Suga doesn't realize he'd stopped breathing until his bow has already swung forward and returned to the palm of his hand.

It's a nine. Just a bit high from the center.

Suga doesn't cheer, or go to Ukai for direction. He knows where his mistakes are. Years of shooting taught him how to correct his own form. Instead, he watches Oikawa's back, watches the roll of Oikawa's shoulder as he releases the next shot, and wonders, not for the first time, how they've managed to come this far.

But he doesn't need an answer, not really.

Teammates first, but that's not quite right, either.

Lovers, first. For the sport. Love is the sound of a bowstring snapping tight and the sweat between their shoulder blades from hours of practice under the sun. Love is the lean, satisfying pull of muscle and the ghost touches of their hand against their jaw. Love is the now-natural indentation they've both worn into their noses from anchoring their shots there, again and again and again.

Everything else comes afterwards.

Suga pulls an arrow from his quiver and nocks it. The rest is him falling in love.

He can hear Iwaizumi and Oikawa talking, voices hushed in comparison to the chatter of the crowd. Suga ignores them in favor of solidifying his anchor, the line of his hand pressed against his jaw. He always takes much longer than Oikawa to shoot. Maybe it's a product of his age, or maybe just because Suga likes to prolong the time he's on the platform.

He's already thirty. How many more matches does he have? How many more times will he be here at the heart of the competition? He could always coach, or become a trainer, like Iwaizumi. He has the skill for it.

But there's nothing quite like the thrill of competition. The hunger for victory. The satisfaction of _crushing_ his opponent, be it Oikawa or a complete stranger.

Though, there's some satisfaction of it being Oikawa, too.

Suga doesn't let his lips twitch into the smile that tries to screw up his shot. Instead, he waits another second—and release.

Nine, to compete with Oikawa's nine from last round. He'd overcompensated for his last shot and now he's hit lower left of the center.

It's going to be a close match.

Oikawa grins cheekily at him as they trade positions, but Suga just watches impassively as Oikawa turns away from him in order to shoot. He glances towards Oikawa's target, noting grimly that Oikawa's been steadily making his way towards the center. His nine last shot only barely missed.

The sound of Oikawa's bow is familiar, even if Suga always thinks it comes sooner than he expects. Oikawa doesn't _quite_ snapshoot, but sometimes Suga worries he doesn't actually aim.

But it's obvious he does when his arrow lands solidly in the ten ring.

Twenty-seven is a good score. Suga needs a ten to beat it and take the end.

He sees Oikawa going over his anchor with Iwaizumi out of the corner of his eye as he steps up to the shooting line. The familiar draw pulls at Suga's shoulders, and for a moment, it reminds him to worry for Oikawa. Suga _should_ be nervous for himself.

But it's only one end. One of a potential five. It would be disastrous, of course, to forfeit the points awarded from his first end. Shooting an eight would mean Oikawa takes it; a nine would mean a tie. A ten results in the end's two points going to Suga.

In this moment, this heartbeat, everything rests on this single arrow.

Yet, at the same time, it doesn't. Each end, everything resets. The shot before this, the end before, the competition before—none of that matters. The only bearing it has is on Suga's mind. His past scores of nine don't guarantee another nine any more than they ensure a lower score or a higher one. All that matters is the pull of the string and the steadiness in his hands.

Suga releases, and he doesn't focus on the result of the shot. He knows it _felt_ good. There's the slightest twinge of feeling lingering in his fingertips from the string's release, like the memory of a warm caress.

The loudspeaker announces a ten. Suga takes the set. Oikawa scowls at him across the platform.

Pride blooms in Suga's chest. This is what he's good at. This is what he loves.

Oikawa's frown twitches upward. Suga must be making some sort of expression that Oikawa likes, because he lets his eyes fall lidded and twists his mouth into a smirk. There's promise in his gaze.

God, Suga had missed competing against him last year. Then, it had mattered who won. Suga had a reputation to uphold, especially against Oikawa's proclaimed rival.

But right now, whether Suga wins or loses, the gold always goes home with him.

 

“Look what you've done,” Iwaizumi says from Suga's shoulder.

He and Suga are lurking on the sidelines while Ukai and Oikawa stand in the spotlight, answering interview questions. The gold medal rests proudly against Oikawa's chest, and he's beaming at the reporters with an unguarded smile that is entirely _unfair_. It makes Suga's heart do flips in his ribcage.

Licking his lips, Suga drags his gaze away to look up at Iwaizumi with a questioning expression, complete with a quirked eyebrow.

“You've created a monster.”

Suga laughs, and then leans against Iwaizumi's side with a bit of a pout. “Nothing I could do about it. He shot well today.” Suga searches halfheartedly inside himself for the jealousy he should harbor, having only won silver, but instead there's only pride.

“He's not going to shut up about this until after next World,” Iwaizumi groans. “He'll be more insufferable than usual.”

Suga pouts harder. “He's not insufferable. You just let him get you too riled up. Besides, he deserved this one.”

Iwaizumi huffs out a laugh. “He did,” he admits. “How long has it been since his last win?”

“Four years,” Suga says. “And then another four before that.” Suga lets out a little hum. “He still hasn't gotten a chance to get back at Ushijima.”

“There's time,” Iwaizumi says. “I'm sure, eventually...”

Suga straightens and shrugs. “Not if I can do anything to help it. Still, it'd be nice to see him get revenge...”

“You aren't planning on retiring for Oikawa's sake, are you?”

Suga plants his hands on his hips out of instinct. “Of course not! I still have another ten years in me, at least.”

“Good to hear.” Iwaizumi's gaze glimmers with that same fire that comes out when he's challenging Suga to work harder, push further. One more shot. One more ten. “Wouldn't want you going soft.”

Suga scoffs, but before he can reply, he hears a reporter mention his name.

It's not uncommon for interview questions to be centered around teammates, and even less uncommon for them to be about opponents, but this question is neither.

“Ah,” Oikawa says with that paradoxical bashful confidence of his. His shyness is an act, and exactly everyone around him knows it and falls for it away. He's unfairly charming like that.

“He thinks he's so cute,” Suga mutters angrily under his breath.

“He's your _boyfriend_ ,” Iwaizumi hisses back in a voice that means he's holding back laughter.

In his hesitance to answer the question, Oikawa meets Suga's gaze. He sends him a smile that's less for show and more fond. “Yes,” he finally answers. “Yes, we're together. We have been for a while.”

“Do you think your relationship had any bearing on your win today?” a reporter asks snobbishly. “How long have you two been together?”

The unasked questions: _Did Sugawara Koushi, set to win gold at the next Olympics, let you win because of his_ feelings _? Did you actually deserve to win, especially after not competing in the last World Cup? Are you_ worthy _of the gold around your neck?_

“Uh,” Oikawa stalls, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Well...”

“Four years!” Suga yells at him. He crosses his arms.

“Four years,” Oikawa echoes to the reporter. His gaze flashes with dark confidence, back on top of his game after a moment of losing his ground. “And, to answer your first question, yes. I believe our relationship greatly contributed to my win today.”

The interviewers go _crazy_ , but Oikawa keeps talking over them.

“Suga brings out the absolute best in me, and I have no doubt that we both shot to our highest ability. He is my teammate, friend, and the love of my life. I know for a fact that neither of us would go easy on the other. Neither of us would want a cheap win. He's deserved every gold he's snatched from me in the past, regardless of whether we'd already begun dating or not, and I'm sure he believes that in turn, I deserve the gold I won today.”

Iwaizumi whistles, low and impressed.

The reporters suddenly pounce on Suga, despite the fact that they haven't finished with Oikawa yet. They hound with questions, poking at prodding at Oikawa and Suga's relationship like it's some alien from the movies Oikawa likes.

Don't they know how those always end? With the alien turning on them, biting the hands that only see them as an experiment?

“Enough,” Iwaizumi barks. “You're here to discuss the competition and their skill at _archery_. As their trainer, I can tell you that both of their passion for the sport far exceeds any thoughts of forfeiting for the sake of a significant other.”

Ukai nods his agreement. “These two are athletes to the core. If you watched them train, you wouldn't question how much they want the win.”

Oikawa claps his hands together, a gleeful smile on his face that hides something darker. “Now, does anyone have any more questions about my performance? If not, I fully intend to spend the rest of the day happily celebrating my win with my boyfriend.”

There's a beat of silence, but then the questions tentatively start back up. Oikawa answers them with grace.

And when the interviewers move on to Suga, Oikawa hovers nearby. Halfway through Suga's interview, he feels Oikawa's hand brush against his, and automatically their fingers intertwine. The noise of the room stutters when the reporters catch sight, and then camera shutters click rapidly. But a glare from Suga keeps them from asking any more questions about the status of their relationship.

At least until Oikawa squeezes Suga's hand, leans down, and whispers against the cusp of Suga's ear, “As soon as we get to the hotel, I want you to fuck my throat.”

Suga feels his face heat, and his words drop off with a stutter. His eyes, however, light up. He turns to Oikawa, so close their noses touch, and stares up at him with sharp determination.

“But you won,” Suga tells him sweetly. He brings his hand up to hold Oikawa's jaw in place. “That means I'm treating you. Going to take you apart nice and slow until you're _begging_.”

He's not exactly speaking loudly, but he's certainly not quiet. The better microphones are sure to pick up on some of that, and Suga decides he doesn't care. He smirks as Oikawa goes red and lets out a soft whine. “Unfair,” he pouts at Suga.

Suga's eyebrows shoot up. “ _Unfair_? Excuse me? How much shit have you put me through today? And like you weren't just trying to rile me up less than thirty seconds ago. You're in no position to complain, Mister.”

Oikawa grins at that. “Are you gonna punish me, then?”

Suga frowns. He's been tricked. Instead of respond, he calls, “Iwaizumi.”

“Got it,” Iwaizumi says, and plants his hand on Oikawa's collar.

“Kinky,” Oikawa says.

“You're one to talk,” Suga replies easily. His smirk slips back into place. “You're not going to be able to walk tomorrow.”

Suga steps back, releasing Oikawa's jaw and nods to Iwaizumi. Their trainer starts tugging Oikawa away by the collar of his jacket, but not before Suga manages to sneak a hand around Oikawa and slap him gently on the ass.

Oikawa yelps, surprised more than anything else. He looks back at Suga with a cheeky grin, but lets Iwaizumi drag him away.

“Finally,” Ukai says mildly. “Now that you two have announced it, you're going to be just as horrid in public as you are at training.”

Suga crosses his arms petulantly and narrows his eyes at his coach. “I have no idea what you're talking about. Oikawa and I are perfect angels at practice.”

“Like that time you fucked in the equipment room?” Ukai fires back.

Suga's jaw drops. “You—I—”

“Didn't know I knew about that?” Ukai says with a dark smile. “Please. You underestimate your coach. Takeda and I were young once, too.”

Suga makes a face.

Ukai turns to the reporters with a smug expression. “My athletes have been working hard all day and would prefer to retire. If you have further questions, you can direct them towards me at another time. If you'll excuse us...”

Suga lets him be led away, but as soon as he's out of the room, Oikawa catches him and presses him up against the wall.

Oikawa's lips are hungry, wanting as they push against Suga's. Suga automatically tangles his hand in Oikawa's hair, tugging just enough to have Oikawa's sighing pleasantly against Suga's mouth. Suga takes advantage of it, slipping his tongue into Oikawa's mouth and tasting desperation.

There's a sigh from somewhere nearby. Suga is only barely paying attention to their surroundings.

“I don't know how they kept it a secret for four years when they're this indiscreet.”

“Because he's always flirting with me because he knows it pisses me off.”

“Don't flatter yourself, Iwaizumi. It's because it fucks with Suga.”

“Koushi _does_ get rather flustered by it. I think he has a jealous streak.”

“... Do you think they'd notice if we left without them?”

“Hold on, I got this.” A pause. “Hey! Compound is better than recurve!”

They break apart. Oikawa whirls with a snarl. Suga glares vehemently at the compound team, but if he's honest, he's not entire sure which one of them was talking shit. He was, needless to say, a little distracted. Given the fact Oikawa doesn't immediately tackle the speaker, Suga assumes he doesn't know who it was, either.

“Kuro, you have a death wish,” Kenma announces dryly.

Kuroo sends Kenma a pointed look. “I would have been _fine_ if you didn't out me like that.”

Kenma stares back, and then grins, lips pulling back in smile that is absolutely terrifying. “You seem to forget, Tetsurou, that I, too, am a recurve shooter.”

Suga is going to remember the look of scared betrayal on Kuroo's face for the rest of his life. He wishes he could take a picture.

However, before Kuroo gets eaten alive, Bokuto slings his arm around Oikawa's shoulders. “Oikawa! Us champions get decide on dinner! What are you thinking? I'm kinda in the mood for Indian.”

“Really?” Suga deadpans. “Indian to celebrate a gold medal at World?”

“Hey, Indian is good,” Bokuto protests. His chin juts out at Suga indignantly.

Suga rolls his eyes.

Oikawa hums thoughtfully. “We should go somewhere local. What's the fanciest place we can get into without reservations?”

“Oh, what about...” Kenma starts, and focuses on pulling something up on his phone.

Suga sighs.

They end up getting Indian, anyway.

 

Oikawa lets himself into their hotel room. By the time Suga's followed him in and closed the door behind him, Oikawa has flopped face first onto the bed.

Suga laughs softly at him and walks over to trail his fingers lightly over the back of Oikawa's calf. “For all your big talk, you seem pretty beat.”

“No,” Oikawa protests. His voice is muffled by the bedspread that he's smooshing his face into.

Suga sits on the edge of the bed and leans back on his hands. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

“Mmph,” Oikawa replies.

“We're not leaving until the day after,” Suga says quietly, dropping onto his elbow to lay on his side next to Oikawa's limp body. “We have all day tomorrow.”

Oikawa turns his head to make his words at least mostly comprehensible. “Kenma wants to go sightseeing tomorrow.”

“I'm sure they won't mind if we show up a little late,” Suga says. “Lazy morning sex is good sex, too.”

Oikawa rolls over and looks at Suga. “What, you too tired to go tonight, old-timer?”

Suga gasps, affronted. “Excuse me? I'm just trying to cater to my champion's needs.”

Oikawa's cheeks go faintly pink at that, and he dials down the teasing. “Your champion would like his reward now, please.”

Suga ducks down to press a chaste kiss to Oikawa's lips. “As you wish.” He pulls back and swats at Oikawa's stomach. “But go shower first.”

Oikawa lets out a whine. He grabs at Suga and pulls Suga down on top of him, pressing his face into Suga's shoulder. “But I'm comfortable.”

“I'll wash your hair,” Suga bargains.

Oikawa tosses Suga off him. Suga lands on his back on the bed with a soft _oof_.

“What are you waiting for?” Oikawa huffs, standing. He pulls at Suga's hand, tugging him up. “I desire pampering.”

Suga laughs and lets Oikawa tug him into the large bathroom. He traps Oikawa against the counter for a moment to press another kiss to his lips. “You deserve it.” Suga pulls back, then, pouting slightly. “Even if you were an ass before the match.”

Oikawa's hands come up to cup Suga's cheeks. “I'm sorry,” he says genuinely, pressing a kiss to Suga's nose. “You know how I am.”

The corners of Suga's lips twitch up at that. “I wouldn't have you any other way.”

“Really?” Oikawa replies easily, and Suga's brow furrows. “Because I'd like you to have me in any way, if I'm honest. On the bed is nice, but I think I have a special preference for being bent over the kitchen table.”

Suga snorts out a laugh and bats, an attempt at scolding, at Oikawa's chest. “You only like that because having sex outside of our bedroom pisses off Kuroo.”

Oikawa blinks at him owlishly. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Or could you possibly by trying to get him to leave and move in with Bokuto?” Suga muses.

Oikawa smiles. “Sure,” he says. “Can I use that as my reason?”

Suga rolls his eyes. “You're horrible.”

“Mean!” Oikawa whines. “I'm a champion today. You're not allowed to be mean to me.”

Suga pulls away to start the water running in the shower. “You'll still be a champion tomorrow, too.”

Oikawa is quiet. When Suga looks back at him after testing the water's temperature, he finds Oikawa's face lit up with excited mischief.

“Oh no,” Suga says weakly.

Oikawa grins wider.

“Iwaizumi is going to hate me,” Suga states.

“Don't worry,” Oikawa says, a hint of pride in his voice. “Iwaizumi hates me most. I'll always be number one in that respect.”

Suga snorts and walks back over to Oikawa. He pulls at the hem of Oikawa's shirt, coaxing it off. He presses a kiss to Oikawa's collarbone as soon as its visible. Oikawa makes a noise from where his head is still covered in fabric.

Oikawa frees himself and drops his shirt on the ground. His hair is messed up, sticking up in odd directions, and Suga laughs as he attempts to fix it.

Oikawa's eyes darken as he watches Suga's face. His gaze drops to his lips, and his hands fall to Suga's waist. “I still want you to fuck my face.”

“Christ,” Suga sucks in a breath. He lets his hand fall to caress Oikawa's jaw. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa breathes. “And then you can take care of me, afterwards. I know you'll be good to me.”

“Of course,” Suga tells him without hesitation. “The question is whether or not you'll be a good boy for me.”

Oikawa drags in a sharp inhale. “I will,” he promises eagerly.

“Good,” Suga purrs. His hold on Oikawa's jaw tightens and he angles Oikawa's face towards him for a lingering kiss. “Always so good for me.”

Oikawa shivers. He lets out a quiet whine against Suga's lips.

“Come on,” Suga breathes. “Shower first, and then you can show me how good that mouth of yours is.”

Oikawa lets out a pleased hum and lets Suga finish undressing him. While Suga is taking off his pants, Oikawa slips under the warm water with a pleased hum.

For a moment, Suga watches him through the frosted glass. Even distorted, Oikawa is beautiful. He looks like the subject of an impressionist painting, cast in warm, dull colors, and the sharp angles of his body soften by the pale kaleidoscope frost of the shower door. Suga wants to worship him, and suddenly his mouth goes dry at the thought.

Yes, perhaps—

“You coming?” Oikawa calls. “I was promised I'd get my hair washed.”

Suga slips into the shower behind Oikawa, ignoring the way heat flushes over his skin from more than just the steam.

“You know,” Suga starts softly. He slides his hands against the dimples in Oikawa's back, fingers digging into the planes of his body. He presses close enough to kiss Oikawa's right shoulder, the one he strained last year. The won that won Oikawa gold today. “You did a good job rebuffing those reporters.”

“You think?” Oikawa chirps. He turns around, letting Suga's palms slide against his skin, and kisses at the corner of Suga's mouth. Water drips from his hair onto Suga's cheeks.

“Yup,” Suga confirms. They shuffle around until they trade places so Suga can monopolize the water for a bit. Suga ducks his head under the stream, closing his eyes against the water. He can't see Oikawa's response when he speaks. Maybe he's being a coward in that respect. “I'm sorry if you wanted to keep it on the down-low a while longer.”

Oikawa's hands grip at Suga's hips, and Suga tips his head back against Oikawa's shoulder so his face is no longer underwater and he can actually breathe. Oikawa takes advantage of the position and presses his face against Suga's neck.

“It doesn't matter,” Oikawa murmurs, lips ghosting over Suga's wet skin. “They'd find out, eventually, anyway. It doesn't matter if it's today or however long it is until we announce our engagement.”

Suga smiles and hums, pressing back against Oikawa and craning his neck to give Oikawa better access. “Have plans, do you?”

Oikawa nips at the junction of Suga's shoulder, sucking a dark mark into the skin. “Maybe,” he drawls, coy and alluring. “I have yet to decide if I want to propose or be proposed to.”

Suga laughs. “And what if I have thoughts on that?”

“No,” Oikawa huffs, tightening his grip on Suga's hips. “You got to announce we were dating. That means I get to pick the flashy proposal. I'm going to have it televised.”

Suga laughs again, and beams up at him, stretching to kiss Oikawa's jaw. “Well, let me know what you decide, then.”

“You'll be the first,” Oikawa says. “Well. Unless I decide to hire backup dancers. Then you probably won't be the first.”

“Would Iwaizumi be one of your backup dancers?” Suga asks innocently. He bites his lip as he turns to look up at Oikawa through his eyelashes. “What about Daichi?”

Oikawa opens his mouth to answer, pauses, and then narrows his eyes at Suga. He wraps his arms around Suga and draws him close. “Koushi,” he purrs warningly. “Are you perhaps asking for the people in our friend group that you specifically enjoy ogling?”

“Not in the least, Love.” Suga smiles at him sweetly and reaches for the shampoo. He lathers it in his hands and threads his fingers into Oikawa's hair. “But you _do_ admit they're great to look at?”

Oikawa lets out a little jealous scoff. Payback, for messing with Suga before the match. They both take special pride in teasing the other like that. Maybe one day it will go a step to far, but if it ever does, Suga is fairly certain the make-up sex would be glorious, anyway, so he's not entirely upset about pushing each other's buttons.

Oikawa lets his eyes close as Suga nudges them to swap positions so Oikawa can rinse out his hair. Just before Oikawa turns around and slips under the water, Suga hears him mutter, “Daichi _does_ have a great ass.”

Suga laughs and skims soapy fingers from Oikawa's nape and down his spine. He trails a finger between Oikawa's cheeks, teasingly pressing lightly against his entrance before pulling back. “You do too,” he says, voice pitching low. He slides his palm over Oikawa's skin before grabbing a handful of Oikawa's ass and squeezing hard enough to make Oikawa startle. “Can't get enough of it.”

“You never can,” Oikawa quips back, but the strength of his retort is lessened by the fact his words are jumbled by water. He turns, shaking droplets from his bangs. “You're _addicted_ to me.”

Suga drags Oikawa down for a quick kiss. “Maybe just a little. Come on. We're going to run out of hot water if we keep up the foreplay in here.”

Oikawa snorts, but starts working on cleaning himself instead of teasing. “You have a low standard for the definition of foreplay.”

Suga lets his gaze trail over Oikawa's back, appreciative, but keeps his hands to himself so that they might actually finish showering sometime this year. “Tooru, darling, what do you call the shit you were talking before the match, then, hmm? A friendly chat?”

Oikawa sends a look over his shoulder at Suga. Suga smirks at him.

“Friendly banter ends with me punching someone in the shoulder or a pat on the back,” Suga continues in a low purr. “And something tells me you'd like a lot more than that tonight. If you wanted me to fuck you, you could have asked. Instead, you pissed me off and made me kiss you in front of _everyone_. They all know you're _mine_. Anyone who saw us before the match would put two and two together, how desperate—”

Oikawa huffs out a noise and whirls. Suddenly, Suga's pressed up against the far wall of the shower, Oikawa crowding close against him and breath hot on Suga's lips for a heartbeat before Oikawa is shoving his tongue into Suga's mouth. He tastes, fleetingly, and then bites at Suga's lips.

“Shut up,” Oikawa growls. “God—Koushi—”

He dives back in, lips unyielding against Suga's, and Suga rears against him, fingers going around Oikawa's back and digging harshly into his shoulders. Oikawa devours him like a man starving, licking into Suga's mouth and twisting his tongue against Suga's own. It leaves Suga dizzy, body thrumming with the warmth of desire.

Oikawa's hand slips between them, a soft touch against Suga's hardening cock, and then firmer. He wraps his hand around Suga's dick, stroking hard and fast, and Suga's head falls back with a breathy groan.

Oikawa doesn't stop in the onslaught, moving to bite Suga's neck as he strokes him. He draws his tongue over the curve of Suga's collarbone, sucks against Suga's shoulder, scrapes his teeth over the curve of Suga's ear. Suga is weak for all of it.

And then Oikawa is gone, stepping out of the shower entirely and leaving Suga desperate and cold.

As the shower door slides shut, Oikawa sends a smug look over his shoulder at Suga, who's still panting against the wall. “How's that for foreplay?”

“Fuck,” Suga groans, eyes falling closed. He's undoubtedly hard, and considers finishing himself, but he owes Oikawa. A gold medal means Oikawa owns all of Suga tonight, including his orgasms.

Groaning again, Suga moves under the water and hurriedly finishes washing himself, ignoring the wanting throb of his cock.

This, too, is part of them. The push and pull and teasing and desire. It's all them. It's hardwired into their bloodstreams, just as much as the draw and release is built into their muscles. They take control in turns, always snatching power from the other in simple ways, mischief running rampant in devious touches, taunting kisses, and haughty glances.

Oikawa's made his move.

Suga rinses the soap from his body and turns the shower off.

Now it's time for Suga to make his play.

When he emerges from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, Suga finds Oikawa laying down on his stomach—completely naked—on the bed, scrolling through twitter. Suga's erection has flagged, but his interest hasn't, and he feels his skin heat as he shamelessly checks out Oikawa's ass from across the room.

Oikawa glances over his shoulder at the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut, and rolls over onto his back, holding out his phone for Suga to inspect. “What does this _mean_?”

Suga pads over and narrows his eyes at a tweet from Ushiwaka. He reads it over, once, twice, and then quirks an eyebrow at Oikawa. “I think he means 'congratulations,' since, you know, that _is_ what he said.”

“B-but!” Oikawa protests, turning his phone around and glaring at his screen as if the device has personally offended him. “But _what does it mean_?”

Suga perches on the edge of the bed. “I think that's it. You know Ushiwaka. He's always straight forward, even if you don't like what he says.”

Oikawa pouts. “Rivals don't congratulate each other.”

Suga stands and plucks Oikawa's phone from his hands. Oikawa weakly grabs for it, but Suga is dancing away from him before he can take it back. “Yes, they do,” Suga argues, placing Oikawa's phone on the desk across the room. “Yamaguchi and Yachi frequently congratulate Daichi and Kiyoko. I've seen Asahi and Kuroo hang out after World without any hard feelings. It's not that hard.”

“But they aren't _rivals_ ,” Oikawa protests. “Not like me and Ushiwaka.”

Suga tugs the towel off his hips, hanging it on the back of the desk chair. “I hate to break it to you, Babe, but maybe Ushiwaka doesn't exactly view you as a rival.” Suga tilts his head thoughtfully. “In fact, I think I might have beat him more times than you've gone up against him.”

“Suuuga,” Oikawa whines, affronted.

“Sorry,” Suga murmurs. “I know you want to take him down.” Suga walks back to the bed, climbing over Oikawa's body. He meets Oikawa's indignant gaze and kisses away his pout. “And you will. But tonight is about _you_ , not Ushiwaka.”

Oikawa sighs out a soft noise of agreement and the tension eases from his body. “Okay,” he agrees.

“Unless you're thinking of inviting him,” Suga muses. “Ushiwaka has an ass that rivals Daichi's.”

Oikawa chokes, and then growls. He wraps a leg over Suga's hip and bodily rolls them both until he's on top of Suga. His eyes flash, dark and dangerous and just a little bit _furious_ , and Suga grins just as menacingly up at him.

“Never,” Oikawa snarls. “You're _mine_.”

Suga softens, then, putting a hand to Oikawa's cheek. “Always,” he murmurs.

Oikawa looks startled for a moment, like he wasn't expecting Suga to back down so easily. It's unusual, certainly, but Suga doesn't want tonight to be harsh grips and rough fucks and biting kisses. He wants tonight to be imprinted on Oikawa's mind with pride and care and love. He wants to remind Oikawa how absolutely _beautiful_ he is.

“Let me...?” Suga asks gently, and nudges at Oikawa's shoulder. He repositions them both until Oikawa is splayed across the bed, resting comfortably against the pillows with Suga between his spread legs.

Suga trails his fingers over the soft skin on the inside of Oikawa's thighs. “I'm really proud of you.”

Oikawa's eyes go wide. “...What?”

“Your shots were amazing today,” Suga continues, tilting his chin down to look at Oikawa through his lashes. He slides his hand up Oikawa's leg, skin twitching under the contact, and rubs his thumb over the jut of bone at Oikawa's hip. “I should have gotten a gold for self-control, watching you. All I wanted to do was take you away so I could strip you down and get you in my mouth as soon as possible.”

Oikawa's breath catches. “Suga...” His eyes spark with something, and he smirks. “I didn't know watching me shoot got you so hot. I would have taken advantage of it much earlier.”

“Not just shooting,” Suga tells him. He curls over himself, pressing his lips to Oikawa's stomach, teeth scraping over the lean muscle there. Oikawa's body jolts, slightly, and he lets out a harsh breath. “All the time. You're _beautiful_.”

Suga looks up through his bangs to meet Oikawa's lidded gaze. He watches Oikawa drag his bottom lip between his teeth. “You too.”

Suga smiles but shakes his head. He presses another soft kiss to the lowest of Oikawa's ribs. “Tonight's about you.”

Oikawa exhales slowly. “I want...”

“If you really would like to blow me,” Suga says gently, tracing a nonsense pattern on Oikawa's thigh. “You can. You can do whatever you want, Tooru.” Suga turns his head and rests his cheek against Oikawa's chest. “But if you'll let me, I'd like to take care of you. You deserve to be rewarded for bringing the gold home to me.”

Oikawa lets out a wounded noise, and nods.

“You can choke on my dick tomorrow, if you'd like,” Suga offers. “Deal?”

Oikawa nods again, quicker, and surges forward, core straining, and drawing Suga up to his lips. Suga presses close, Oikawa's lips insistent and warm against his. Suga scoots forward, slowly maneuvering to straddle Oikawa's hips. The shift allows Oikawa to lean back against the pillows again without breaking their kiss.

Suga slides his hands over Oikawa's chest, coming to rest at his shoulders, digging his fingers into muscle. Suga pulls away from the kiss to nip at Oikawa's jaw, trailing his lips to his ear and sucking a mark into the skin of Oikawa's neck. “Always so strong,” Suga purrs.

Oikawa snorts, even though his head is thrown back to give Suga more room. Suga drags his tongue up the column of Oikawa's neck, blows on the wet stripe to make Oikawa shudder.

“You're always good at what you do.” Suga slides his hands out of the way to kiss at Oikawa's right shoulder. “Doesn't matter if it's shooting or making breakfast or fucking me so good I can't remember my own name.”

Suga lets his hand wander towards Oikawa's hand on top of the bed and brings it up between them. He tilts his head to kiss the inside of Oikawa's wrist, and then turns Oikawa's hand to press his lips to the pad of Oikawa's index finger. “You have so much strength, so much skill. Whatever you do, you always dive into it. I've never met anyone that passionate before. It swept me off my feet, if I'm honest.”

Suga kisses Oikawa's knuckles, brushes his lips against the meat of Oikawa's palm. “I didn't expect it, when you first beat me,” Suga continues softly. He presses Oikawa's hand against his own cheek, leaning into it. “You came out of no where, as far as I'd been paying attention. You blew me away, and just like there was nothing I could have done to take that first gold from you, I don't think there was anything I could do to keep from falling for you, either.”

Oikawa clears his throat, clearly affected. Still, he tries to play it off, as if Suga can't read him like a book. They've been teammates for eight years, lovers for four. There's not a single emotion that Oikawa can hide from Suga.

“Such a romantic, Koushi,” Oikawa hums, trying for indifference. Except that his voice is rough, choked with feeling, and Suga presses another lingering kiss into Oikawa's palm.

“What can I say?” Suga purrs. “You bring out the worst in me.”

And then he fits his lips over Oikawa's fingers. Suga sucks his index and middle into his mouth, and underneath him, Oikawa's hips jump minutely.

Oikawa runs his tongue along his bottom lip and swallows hard. Suga feels him press his fingers against Suga's tongue, and Suga sucks gently, laving his tongue over Oikawa's fingers, between them. They're not exactly soft from shooting so much, as much as Oikawa tries to keep his skin smooth, but they're _familiar_.

Suga groans as he remembers the feel of those fingers, digging into Suga's ass while Oikawa eats him out, pressing deep inside him and breaking Suga apart at the seams. Only half-conscious of his movements, Suga grinds his hips back against Oikawa's cock.

“God—” Oikawa manages weakly. “God, Koushi, you're so fucking—”

Suga bites gently down on Oikawa's fingers, scolding. It's not about Suga. He lets Oikawa's fingers slip from his mouth, spit-slick. Oikawa looks like he has plans for that hand, so Suga keeps his hold on Oikawa's wrist.

Suga gets off of Oikawa. He guide's Oikawa's hand down to his own cock, and Oikawa quirks an eyebrow at Suga, fingers circling loosely around his dick.

“Enjoy yourself for a bit,” Suga tells him as he goes to rummage through their suitcase for lube.

Oikawa lets out a huff. “You're going to make me do all the work? I thought I was going to get treated like a princess.”

“You are,” Suga replies. “And it's only for a bit.”

Suga takes a moment after he finds the bottle of lube to stretch his legs. He's been sitting on his knees for a while, and he'll will for some time, still. Not that he's complaining about being on his knees in front of Oikawa.

“Unfair,” Oikawa mumbles, and Suga turns to him. He's working his hand over his dick, each stroke slow and intentional, and his gaze is pinned on Suga.

“What?”

“You're pretty,” Oikawa huffs, seemingly annoyed, and then bites his lip. There's a noise akin to a whimper that cuts off as Oikawa tips his head back against the headboard.

Suga pads over and drops the lube on the bedspread. He presses his thumb against Oikawa's lip, coaxing it out from between his teeth. Oikawa stares up at him, looking wounded and vulnerable and hungry. Suga's thumb lingers on the plush of Oikawa's bottom lip, and Oikawa's tongue darts out to tease.

“No hiding,” Suga tells him, soft. “I want to hear you. I want your honesty.”

Oikawa nods, dislodging Suga's touch.

Suga lets his hand cup Oikawa's jaw, instead. “I want to fuck you. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Oikawa breathes out. “Please.”

“Good boy,” Suga says, and watches Oikawa shudder.

Suga settles between Oikawa's legs again, blunt nails scratching lightly at his thighs. Oikawa's eyes stay trained on Suga as he leans forward to blow over the head of Oikawa's cock. Oikawa hiccups out a startled noise, and the hand stroking himself stutters and ultimately slows.

Suga grips at one of Oikawa's hips to keep him from thrusting up too much and then licks over the head. He laps at the taste of precum, tonguing at the slit and making Oikawa whimper. Suga takes Oikawa into his mouth, lips wrapped tight over the head while Oikawa continues to stroke the rest of himself.

Suga trusts Oikawa not to choke him, so he releases Oikawa's hip to reach for the lube. While his hands are busy, Suga swirls his tongue over the head of Oikawa's dick, dips his tongue into the slit until salty precum spills into his mouth with renewed interest. Now slicked, Suga's fingers trail over Oikawa's balls, teasing with light touches.

Oikawa lets out a groan, sucks in a harsh breath as Suga moves lower, rubbing over Oikawa's entrance.

Suga pushes his index finger in, and Oikawa uses his shoulder propped against the pillows to push it deeper. Suga hums around Oikawa's cock in his mouth, and Oikawa's breath stutters out into a moan. Suga pulls off of Oikawa's dick and sucks on one of Oikawa's balls as he starts the slow slide stretching Oikawa open.

Suga lifts his head and watches Oikawa. His mouth is dropped open, quick breaths drying on his lips. He has his free hand thrown over his shoulder and gripping into the pillows propping him up. Suga lets his gaze wander over the stretch of Oikawa's side, drinking in the lithe splay of his body.

“Beautiful,” Suga tells him, and Oikawa's cheeks go pink.

Suga pauses in his motion to add more lube to his fingers. As he slips two in, he distracts Oikawa by biting a mark into the inside of his thigh. Suga layers kisses there, dancing around the imprint of his teeth and sucking the sensitive flesh between his lips until it darkens under his mouth, to later become bruises that Suga will be sure to remap the next morning. Right now, though, he scrapes his teeth over a blooming hickey at the same time he curls his fingers and intentionally just barely misses Oikawa's prostate.

“Koushi, _please_ ,” Oikawa whispers harshly.

Suga glances up at Oikawa. His hand stalls over his cock, letting Suga take care of him instead, and Suga's heart swells with the faith Oikawa has in him. It's the same here as it is in front of the target—they'll take care of each other, until the end. Here, their passion is redirected from the sport to each other. Here, Suga memorizes Oikawa's body in the same way that he memorizes the quirks of his bow, the consistencies of his own form.

Even with Oikawa, Suga savors the draw and release. Even if the end result isn't a score of ten, but instead the heavy satisfaction of pleasure thrumming through his veins.

“I've got you,” Suga purrs.

Oikawa reaches out the hand he'd been stroking himself with, and Suga laces the fingers of his free hand together with Oikawa's.

“I love your hands. Did you know that?” Suga murmurs absently, crooking his fingers.

Oikawa cries out but manages to focus his hazy gaze on Suga. “W-what?” His voice is breathless.

Suga presses into Oikawa's prostate again, and Oikawa's grip tightens on his hand, body going taut before Suga takes pity and lets him have a reprieve. He manages to get more lube onto his fingers without releasing Oikawa's hand, though he does dribble some on the bed. Suga disregards the mess as he pushes three fingers past Oikawa's tight rim.

“They give you away more than you think,” Suga tells him.

Oikawa gasps as Suga's fingers prod gently inside him. “Yeah?” he gasps out. “W-what are they s-saying now?”

“You're getting overwhelmed,” Suga answers easily. “You want something to ground you. You're afraid of falling.”

Oikawa lets out a choked noise. Suga digs his fingers against Oikawa's prostate, and the sound escapes as a drawn-out moan. Suga brings Oikawa's hand up and kisses Oikawa's knuckles.

“Let me take care of you, Tooru.”

“Fuck, Koushi,” Oikawa groans, squeezing his eyes shut. He arches his back off the pillows, pushing Suga's fingers deeper. “Any... _ah, ah_... anything... else?”

“You read people well,” Suga says. “It makes you dependable. When everyone's falling apart around you, you know how to pick them up again. But I think you forget how to take care of yourself sometimes. And you forget that even though I'm not as good at is as you—that I can read people, too. That I can read _you_.”

Oikawa doesn't answer, then, but his breath catches harshly in his chest. He releases the pillow he was clinging to in favor of throwing that arm over his face, letting out a soft groan into his elbow.

“You're always so tough right up until you start critiquing yourself too much. You've always been a perfectionist.” Suga smiles to himself at that, presses a kiss to Oikawa's hip. “But you're already perfect, Tooru.”

Oikawa's dick twitches. Suga grins and curls his fingers again.

“ _Kou—_ ” Oikawa starts, but his voice cracks into silence.

“You've grown so much since I met you, Tooru. You've _accomplished_ so much. I know it's not always the things you want, and you always set a higher bar for yourself than everyone around you. But I've watched you hone your skills and carve out a name for yourself and a place on the team and a place in our _hearts_. Not just mine. The world's. You've clawed your way to the top and you absolutely deserve it. All of it.”

Suga's throat tightens with emotion, but he keeps talking. “You've done so much. You're perfect, Tooru. Perfect. You _care_ , so, so much. I don't know how you manage it. You're so passionate. You're dedicated, and loyal, and _God_ , fucking _gorgeous_. I'm so lucky to have you. You're more than I deserve. You're strong in ways I never was.”

Suga pulls his fingers out of Oikawa, and reaches for the lube to spread over his cock. He hisses at the contact, after neglecting himself so long. Oikawa squirms underneath him as Suga crawls over him, pausing only to scrape his teeth over one of Oikawa's nipples.

Oikawa's hand drags through Suga's hair, and before Suga can properly look up at him, Oikawa is crashing their mouths together. He pulls Suga close, arms wrapping around Suga's shoulders so he can't really move, but his cock rubs against Oikawa's and they both shudder at the sensation. In the bliss of rutting shamelessly against Oikawa's hips, it takes Suga a moment to notice the moisture against his cheeks.

Suga pulls away, alarmed. “To—Tooru, are you crying?”

“No,” Oikawa says, though he very obviously _is_. “Keep going.”

Suga kisses away a tear clinging to Oikawa's eyelashes. “You always try to do the right thing in the end. No matter how much you want something, you want to work for it. You want to feel like you've earned it, just like you felt like you had to earn me.” Suga smiles at him. “As if you didn't already have me by the time you won that gold.”

Oikawa huffs out a little fond sound. “You'd won World three times by then,” he protests weakly, voice only wavering a little. “I couldn't ask you out when I'd only won _one_. I had to at least have two in the bag.”

“Tooru, you could have asked me out with no golds, and I would have said yes,” Suga deadpans, though his tone is sweet. “It doesn't matter how many medals you have. You've already earned me. You're worth it, Tooru. I'm in love with you. That's it. That's enough.”

Oikawa bites his lower lip to keep it from quivering. Suga worries he might be on the brink of a full out sob, but Oikawa just surges up and sloppily kisses Suga. It's too wet from Oikawa's tears, but Suga doesn't really care because Oikawa tastes like the way a perfect shot feels leaving his fingertips, a single arrow right through his heart.

Oikawa's aim never faltered in that respect.

“Let me,” Suga gasps against Oikawa's lips. “Let me take care of you.”

“Okay,” Oikawa whispers.

Suga manages to get enough space between them to reach down and take them both in hand. He strokes over them for a moment, regaining the interest that had flagged while they were talking. Oikawa shudders against him, hips rutting up into Oikawa's hand and spreading friction across Suga's cock.

“Pillow,” Suga manages, and Oikawa leans forward enough to wrangle a pillow free.

Suga grudgingly pulls away so Oikawa has room to slip the pillow under his hips. Oikawa takes a moment to swipe at the tear tracks left on his cheeks, and Suga pauses in lining them up to push a kiss to Oikawa's forehead.

“You good?”

Oikawa looks up at him, fond, and then grins widely. “I'm _perfect_.”

Suga chuckles. “Yeah."

Both Oikawa and Suga's breaths hitch as the head of his cock catches on Oikawa's rim.

“Yeah,” Suga chokes out again. “You are.”

Suga pushes in deeper, groaning as he fucks in shallow little thrusts into the heat of Oikawa's body. “ _God_. Fuck, Tooru—”

Oikawa's hands reach around Suga, clawing at his back and catching hold against the nape of his neck and his shoulder blade. Oikawa uses the leverage to push Suga in deeper and they both moan.

“Keep going,” Oikawa grits out.

Suga's not sure if he means fucking him or talking, so he does both. Suga thrusts in the rest of the way, and Oikawa tips his head back with a keen, clenching hard around Suga's cock.

And, even though Suga's been talking all night, he can't stop. He grinds his hips against Oikawa's, head falling against Oikawa's shoulder as he pants out praise. “God, Tooru, you're so fucking good. So tight and hot around me. How long has it been since I fucked you open like this? It's like your ass is desperate for it.”

Oikawa whines against Suga's ear, arching his back to try and get Suga deeper.

Suga pulls out some and thrusts back in. Oikawa's nails dig into his back. “God, you're beautiful. Your ass is perfect, Tooru. Fuck.”

Oikawa wraps a leg around Suga's hips, trying to convince him to move and stop teasing. “B-better than Daichi's?”

Suga's breath stutters out in what might be a laugh if he was functioning enough to manage legitimate humor. “Of course,” he pants into Oikawa's neck, starting up a steady pace. “It's _mine_.”

Suga bites at Oikawa's shoulder, panting praises into Oikawa's skin. How beautiful he is. How good he looks with Suga's cock splitting him open. How well he takes it, even with the force of Suga's thrusts, bracing himself against the headboard to keep from hitting his head against it.

Suga can feel himself losing out to the pleasure of fucking into Oikawa, cock enveloped in perfect warmth. Oikawa is moaning in his ear, nipping at Suga's neck and leaving wet kisses on his skin as he trembles underneath Suga. They're both climbing together, Suga knows, and there's only so long he can hold out.

Suga gave up long ago trying to separate Oikawa from archery in his mind, and this is no different. Bowstrings, pulled and taut, bodies shaking with the exertion of holding out for the release.

Suga presses a sloppy kiss to Oikawa's right shoulder. He whispers against Oikawa's skin, “C'mon, Baby—Tooru—God, you're beautiful. Come for me, Babe. You've done so well. So proud of you.”

It's a simple thing, the release. The slight relaxation of muscle, so minute that most of the time you don't even realize that you've done it unless you're looking for it. Oikawa is shaking apart in Suga's arms, letting out a high keen, and suddenly Suga is right there with him, coming hard in Oikawa, filling him up.

One moment, there's tension, the strain of holding out for so long, and then the next—satisfaction, joy, _love_.

Suga lets his weight drop onto Oikawa, who lets out a wheeze in response. He can feel Oikawa's cum smearing between their bodies and decides that he doesn't really care.

“Jesus,” Suga gasps out.

“Tooru, actually,” Oikawa says weakly. “You're heavy.”

“I'm _old_ ,” Suga complains breathlessly. “Let me rest.”

Oikawa kisses Suga's shoulder, and then promptly shoves at it. Not enough to actually move Suga but enough to be annoying.

With a long-suffering sigh, Suga braces his weight on his arms and gingerly pulls out of Oikawa. Even being careful, Suga still sees Oikawa wince, but his face soon smooths into sappy contentedness.

Suga rolls over onto his side, snuggling against Oikawa. He presses a kiss to his chest. “Congratulations, by the way.”

Oikawa snorts, wrapping his arms around Suga. “Thank you, Koushi. For all of this.”

Suga pecks him on the lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Oikawa whispers, all soft and sweet and loving.

Suga cringes, suddenly very away of the cum cooling on his stomach. “But I don't love you enough to fall asleep like this. Let's clean up. Then bed time.”

Oikawa lets Suga drag him out of bed. The only reason he's successful is that Oikawa hates sticky bodily fluids on him more than he enjoys a lengthy bask in the warm afterglow of orgasm.

Once clean, they slip back into bed, curled together and pleased and warm. Suga falls asleep to the steady beat of Oikawa's heart, with Oikawa's arms wrapped around him like Suga's the only thing that matters in the world.

That's saying a lot, considering Oikawa just won a gold medal at a worldwide competition.

 

Suga wakes blearily to his phone ringing. Oikawa is tangled around him, clinging to his back like an oversized koala, and Suga struggles to get enough leeway to reach for the side table where his phone is sitting.

“Tooru, _please_ ,” Suga hisses, but Oikawa doesn't stir.

Suga rolls, dragging Oikawa with him, and ends up on his stomach with Oikawa halfway on top of him, head resting on Suga's shoulder.

Squinting at his phone, Suga answers the video call. Which is a rare thing to receive from one Kozume Kenma, who prefers texting in exactly every situation which calls for communication.

“What?” Suga asks as the connection slowly resolves into a less pixelated image of someone who is very much not Kenma. “Hinata?”

“Suga!” Hinata cheers. “Are you still asleep?”

“Not anymore,” Suga grumbles. He glances at Oikawa, currently drooling onto Suga's shoulder, and can't help but be a little jealous. “Why do you have Kenma's phone?”

“He lost a bet and can't use his phone all day. He's been cheating by using Kuroo's, but technically that wasn't part of the rules, so... Are you with Oikawa?”

Suga nods. Before he can give a proper reply, Hinata blurts: “Did you have sex?”

Suga feels his eyes widen, surprised, but he laughs. Off-screen, he can here someone scold, “ _Shouyou!_ ”

Followed by Kuroo's familiar voice: “You didn't have to ask him directly, y'know. _I_ could have told you that. It's their thing. Every time one of them wins gold.”

Hinata isn't even paying attention to Suga anymore, instead curiously looking somewhere off-screen and rubbing the back of his head where Kageyama had just smacked him for 'asking insensitive questions.' As if Kageyama has any more tact.

Suga's finding it hard to breathe between how hard he's laughing and the weight of Oikawa on top of him.

“What happens if neither win gold?” Hinata asks Kuroo.

“We still have sex,” Suga tells him, breathless. “Really, it's a win no matter what.”

Oikawa groans and shifts, pressing his face into the space between Suga's shoulder blades.

“Shouyou, what are you doing with my phone?” Suga hears Kenma's voice, clearly annoyed.

“Well, you weren't using it.” Hinata shrugs. The camera gets thrown around wildly. “Hey, no! You can't— _Kenma_ , the _bet_.”

“That was before you started bothering Koushi and Tooru,” Kenma huffs. He glances down at the phone he's managed to wrestle from Hinata and holds it up so that Suga can see the group of them gathered there. “We're waiting on...” Kenma takes a second to glance over those currently present, and then sighs. “Basically everyone, so if you want to come with us, take your time, I guess. I'll text you where we're meeting for breakfast.”

“Sounds good,” Suga says at the same time Oikawa stirs and drags his head up.

“What's going on?” he mumbles, yawning.

“Hinata wanted to know if we had sex,” Suga informs him. Kenma makes a face. “And everyone is going out for food.”

Oikawa shifts to fit his head over Suga's shoulder, looking at the camera. He blinks at it blearily. “I hope you told him I got the best fuck of my life last night.”

Kenma's brow furrows further, disgust written across his features. “Please stop.”

Suga laughs, but knocks his head gently against Oikawa's temple. “Tell Hinata to get the details from Bokuto if he really wants to know what it's like.”

Kenma grumbles out something that sounds suspiciously like _he already knows_. He bats at Hinata's hands trying to steal his phone again. “Meet us in an hour,” he tells Suga, and then ends the call.

“Cute,” Oikawa comments, and flops over. He stretches and lets out a satisfied groan. “We have a _whole hour_ to ourselves.”

Suga drops his phone on the side table and rolls over to face Oikawa. “An entire hour,” he echoes teasingly. “What could we possibly do in that time?”

“Shower. Get ready. Be respectable human beings.”

“Sounds boring.”

“ _C'est la vie_.”

Suga snorts at him, scooting closer to kiss Oikawa's shoulder. “Or...”

“Or...” Oikawa hums, dragging out the noise just for the game of it. “Or you could fuck my face. I think I like that option.”

Suga's laughing before he can stop himself. “Yeah, okay.”

“You can't say no,” Oikawa says. He moves down on the bed and taps on his shoulders, motioning for Suga to kneel above him. “I won a gold medal in the individual men's archery world cup yesterday.”

“Oh, really?” Suga purrs as he sits up and crawls over Oikawa, knees above his shoulders, thighs framing Oikawa's face. “Aren't you something special.”

“I _am_ ,” Oikawa beams at him from between Suga's legs. “You told me so. No take-backs.”

Suga softens, reaching down to run his thumb over Oikawa's cheekbone. “Of course not. I meant everything I said.”

Oikawa's gaze twinkles with light mischief. “Even the part about being in love with me?”

“Especially that part. I love you, Tooru.”

Oikawa goes from teasing to sincere in a heartbeat. “I love you, too, Koushi.”

Suga trails a finger over Oikawa's bottom lip, coaxing his mouth open. “I also meant the part about Ushiwaka's ass.”

Oikawa's eyes flash dangerously. He grips Suga's hips, fingers digging into Suga's flesh and making his heart spike at the thought of leaving bruises.

“I'm going to make you regret that,” Oikawa huffs angrily. “The only name you're going to remember when I'm done with you is _mine_.”

“Promise?” Suga quips—or, well, _tries_ to, but doesn't actually manage it. Because as soon as he opens his mouth, Oikawa takes him deep, cock hitting the back of his throat, and Suga chokes on the breath he was trying to use to speak.

By the time they make it to breakfast, they're half an hour late, and Oikawa's voice is hoarse and scratchy. Kenma takes one look at them and makes his distinctive _ick_ face at them. Suga threads his fingers between Oikawa's, and he doesn't let go.

It's a quiet realization, but one that matters: at some point, falling in love with Oikawa meant that Oikawa's happiness surpasses Suga's own desires. Before Oikawa's last win, four years ago, a loss would have left Suga bitter, the taste of defeat driving him forward to do better.

Now, though, defeat tastes like the bite of fluffy pancakes that Oikawa offers him from his fork, lathered in way too much syrup to be healthy. But Oikawa won World and has bragging rights to get away with whatever he wants now. Suga finds he doesn't mind that in the least.

It's fitting, that cupid is depicted with a bow. Suga thinks there's only one thing that can rival Suga's passion for archery. It's cupid himself, arrow aimed right at Suga's heart and entirely unapologetic when his aim is true, stealing Suga's breath away with the force of love. It's cupid, bowstring drawn back to his lips in that same kiss that he shares with Suga each night. It's cupid, who fell in love first, hard and fast and breathless, who used the number of gold medals he won not as a measure of his success but as a stepping stone to falling in love.

His name is Oikawa Tooru.

Suga sighs contently and leans his head against Oikawa's shoulder, feeling sappy and romantic and _in love_.

Oikawa automatically presses a kiss to the crown of Suga's head.

Kuroo sighs.

“Here they go.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> i will never be over the "jesus christ" "it's [name], actually" joke and you can pry it from my cold dead hands. tbh i kinda got lazy with the porn bc it's been a while since i've written any heaves
> 
> how to tell I got too into this AU considering i intended it to originally just be porn: 
> 
> Years of World competitions and winners by Oikawa and Suga's age, respectively:  
> first letter denotes winner (Suga, Oikawa, or Ushijima) and second denotes the 2nd place (the person the winner had to beat in the finalist match)  
> 14, 18 - N/A  
> 15, 19 - N/A  
> 16, 20 - U (S)  
> 17, 21 - S (U)  
> 18, 22 - O (S)  
> 19, 23 - S (U)  
> 20, 24 - S (O)  
> 21, 25 - U (O)  
> 22, 26 - O (S)*  
> 23, 27 - S (O)  
> 24 , 28 - U (O)  
> 25, 29 - S (U)**  
> 26, 30 - O (S)  
> *year oisuga got together  
> **oikawa did not compete after overworking himself to try and beat ushiwaka
> 
> Team 1 Recurve: Suga, Oikawa, Kenma  
> Team 1 Compound: Kuroo, Akaashi, Bokuto  
> Team 1 Mixed Recurve: Daichi & Kiyoko  
> Team 1 Other: Ukai, Iwaizumi, Takeda
> 
> Team 2 Mixed Recurve: Yamaguchi & Yachi  
> Team 2 Recurve: Kageyama, Tsukishima, Hinata  
> Team 2 Compound: Asahi, Noya, Tanaka
> 
> Other Teams: Ushijima
> 
> anyway i'm going tf to bed


End file.
